


Impervius

by FantasticNumberNine



Series: John Watson and the Prisoner of Azkaban [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Crossover, Dementors, Gen, Potterlock, Quidditch, Substitute Teacher, Thunderstorms, gryffindor vs hufflepuff, i forgot to give John glasses, oh well, page 394, werewolves?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticNumberNine/pseuds/FantasticNumberNine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape teaches DADA, to everyone's chagrin, and Gryffindor is playing Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin--but isn't Cedric Diggory dreamy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impervius

**Author's Note:**

> *disclaimer*

Sirius Black was the subject of every discussion at Hogwarts for several days after their impromptu slumber party in the Great Hall--John was beginning to worry about Mycroft, who was rolling his eyes so frequently, John feared they'd pop right out of his head.

Sir Cadogan had replaced the Fat Lady at the entrance of Gryffindor Tower, to no ones delight, as the password changed at least twice a day and everyone was challenged to a duel upon requesting entrance. 

"He's a complete nutter!" Greg grumbled one night. "Maybe Black'll be back, slash his painting to bits... If I don't do it first..."

John was more annoyed by the not so subtle way teachers followed him in the corridors between classes--Percy Lestrade had taken to tailing him everywhere, and McGongall had taken him aside to tell him what he'd known since September: Sirius Black was after him. 

And just when John had decided things couldn't get more exasperating, Oliver Wood announced that they wouldn't be playing Slytherin on Saturday, they were playing Hufflepuff, because Flint insisted that their Seeker's arm was still injured.

"There's nothing wrong with Moriarty's arm!" John shouted later, throwing a first year text across the dormitory, forcing Greg to duck as it narrowly missed his ear.

" _We_ know that, no need to be throwing books at _us_ \--"

"Cedric Diggory is Seeking for Hufflepuff?" Mycroft's attempt to be casual was undermined by the blush just visible above the Ancient Runes textbook he was pretending to read.

John and Greg traded bemused looks.

"How is it, Myc, that you can't name anyone on the Gryffindor team, beside John, but you know the name _and_ position of some Hufflepuff player?"

"I have no idea what you are attempting to imply--"

John started to giggle, Greg not far behind as Mycroft harrumphed into his book.

The day before the match dawned tempestuous and foreboding, a feeling reinforced as John arrived late to Defense to find Professor Snape teaching instead of Professor Lupin. And instead of the lesson on hinkypunks John had been expecting, they were to discuss--

"--Werewolves."

"But, sir," Mycroft appeared shocked into speaking. "We're not due to study werewolves until spring--"

"Mister Holmes, I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you to turn to page 394."

The class opened their books with a lot of glares and bitter muttering.

"Now, which of you can tell me how to distinguish between a werewolf and the true wolf?"

Mycroft was alone in raising his hand.

"Anyone?" Snape sneered, ignoring Mycroft. "Well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who couldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are--"

" _Sir_ ," Mycroft had dropped his hand, and looked about ready to walk out of the classroom. "The werewolf's _wolf form_ differs from the true wolf in many small ways, but not something we _third years_ \--"

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Mister Holmes," said Snape, his eyes glittering. "Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Mycroft's annoyed, and arrogant, look dropped as he looked down to stare at his desk, his hands clenched in his lap. It was a mark of how much the class loathed Snape, that they were all glaring at him now, as every one of them had called Mycroft a know-it-all at least once, though perhaps no one more than Greg, who took it upon himself to remind Mycroft of the fact daily.

"You asked us a question and he knows the answer! Don't bloody ask us stuff if you don't want to be told!"

The class held its breath as Snape advanced slowly on Greg, who knew he'd gone too far, but in a show of Gryffindor bravery (or stupidity, as John was sure Mycroft would be calling it later), jutted out his chin challengingly.

"Detention, Lestrade. And if I ever hear you criticize how I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

John and Mycroft waited for Greg after class, who joined them in a towering rage.

"D'you know what that _prick_ \--"

" _Gregory!_ "

"--is making me do?"

Saturday morning dawned grey, thunderous, and, thanks to Peeves, much earlier than John was happy with. Grabbing Crookshanks before he could sneak into the dormitory, John trudged down to the common room, where the storm outside was even louder. He slumped into a chair by the fire to while away the morning, keeping a firm hold on Crookshanks, who was determined to go up to the third year boy's room.

Alicia's breakfast claim to not minding "a bit of rain," was absurd. They were buffeted sideways by the wind as they stepped out onto the pitch, and the sounds of the crowd were drowned out by rolling thunder. The team was soaked in less than a minute and the rain was so thick, John could only just make out the bright yellow robes of the Hufflepuffs opposite him.

Madame Hooch gave a short, shrill, blast on her whistle, and John surged off the ground, his Nimbus swerving slightly in the strong winds as he squinted into the rain, looking desperately for any hint of the snitch.

Five minutes later, John could was frozen to his broom, unable to see his teammates, let alone the tiny snitch. He had no idea what was happening, Lee Jordan's commentary buried by the wind. He was almost unseated twice by Bludgers, his hair dripping into and covering his eyes. 

The sky grew darker and darker, and everyone so wet he couldn't tell teammate from opponent.

Lightning flashed and John just made out the outline of Oliver Wood through the sheets of rain, gesturing him to the ground. 

"What's the score?" John asked, trying to force his hair out of his eyes--where he didn't his bangs dry and covering his scar, wet and impeding his vision was worse.

""We're up fifty points," Wood answered. "But unless we get the Snitch soon, we'll be playing into the night."

"Anyone have a pair of shears?" John asked, exasperated.

"Always so dramatic," Mycroft appeared at John's shoulder, holding his cloak over his head and, inexplicably, grinning. "I have an idea."

With a quick wave of his wand, Mycroft slicked John's hair back ("That had better not be a _permanent_ sticking charm--"), holding it in place with a red and gold striped headband that, fortunately, John couldn't see. With one final flourish, he tapped John's face with his wand, saying confidently, "Impervius!"

"That last spell will repel water," Mycroft added smugly.

Wood looked as though he could kiss him--something John didn't think would upset Mycroft all that much.

"Brilliant!" Wood shouted after Mycroft, who'd run back into the crowd. "Okay, team, let's go for it!"

Mycroft's spell work had done the trick--John was still numb with cold, and wetter than he'd ever been in his life, but he could see. Determination refreshed, he pushed through the turbulent air, dodging Bludgers, and ducking under other players in search for the Snitch. 

Thunder clapped, and lightning streaked through the sky. John pulled to a stop, observing the field from a standstill, he _needed_ to find the Snitch, this was getting too dangerous...

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the stands for a brief moment, enough to distract John completely. A huge black dog was sitting, motionless, in the topmost, empty row of seats.

John's hands slipped on his broom and he dropped several feet. He shook his head quickly, staring back into the stands. The dog had vanished. 

"John!" Wood's anguished yell sounded nearby. "John, behind you!"

John spun around wildly. Cedric Diggory was racing up the field, a tiny speck of gold shimmering in the air between them. John threw himself flat against his broom and pelted forward, his left hand reaching--

There was something strange happening. Silence was falling over the stadium. The wind, without losing strength, lost its voice. There was nothing but an eerie quiet.

Then, a very different and familiar cold rushed over him... Something was moving down on the field below...

John looked down.

A hundred dementors stood beneath him, staring up at him behind their hooded faces.

Someone was screaming again... A woman...

" _Not John, not John, please not John!_ "

" _Stand aside, you silly girl... Stand aside, now..._ "

" _Not John, please no, take me, kill me instead--_ "

John's mind filled a swirling white mist, numbing his brain... Was he doing something, before... Why was he flying? The woman... She was going to die... He needed to help her...

He was falling.

" _Not John! Please... Have mercy... Have mercy..._ "

There was shrill laughter, the woman screamed, and then John saw black.

 

"Lucky the ground was so soft."

"I thought he was dead for sure."

John could hear voices whispering, but none of it made sense. There was a scoffing sound that he felt he should know, but didn't. He didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten there either. He _did_ know that every inch of him was aching. 

"That was the scariest thing I've seen in my life."

Scariest... The scariest thing... Hooded black figures... Screaming...

John's eyes snapped open--he was in the hospital wing. The Gryffindor Quidditch team, covered head to toe in mud, was gathered around his bed with Greg and Mycroft--who looked as though they'd gone for a swim fully dressed with the giant squid Greg was so fond of.

"What happened?" 

The lightning--the _Grim_ \--and the Snitch--but then there were Dementors...

"You fell off," said Fred. "Must've been some fifty feet?"

"We thought you'd died," Alicia said, shaking.

"But, the match? What happened? Are we doing a replay?"

No one said a word, and John knew with a horrible sinking feeling.

"We... Lost?"

"Diggory got the Snitch, just after you fell--he didn't see you fall, tried to call it off when he realized, but..." George trailed off for a moment. "They won, fair and square. Even Wood admitted it."

John glanced around, realizing, "Where is Wood?"

"Still in the showers," said Fred. "We think he's trying to drown himself."

John curled his face to his knees, not saying a word as Fred and George talked points and their chances at the Cup. They had lost. For the first time ever, he had lost a Quidditch match. 

Greg and Mycroft stayed, even as Madame Pomfrey shooed out the team.

"Professor Dumbledore was very angry..."

Mycroft and Greg were talking, but John hardly noticed, thinking about the dementors, and the woman screaming. He glanced up to see Greg and Mycroft looking at him anxiously.

"Did someone get my Nimbus?"

Greg suddenly found his shoes to be incredibly fascinating, and even Mycroft looked away for a moment.

"What?"

"Well, it was blown away, when you fell," Mycroft paused. "It flew into the Whomping Willow."

John felt a bit sick, but asked anyways, "And?"

"Well, you know how it is... The Willow..." Greg looked up cautiously, "It doesn't like getting hit, much."

Mycroft reached down and pulled up a bag, tipping the splintered remains of John's Nimbus Two Thousand onto the bed at his feet..

**Author's Note:**

> So... Mycroft's got a thing for all-star seekers... Greg's not gonna worry too much though, cause he's gonna be the Keeper. Whoa, bad pun alert. Going to bed, now.


End file.
